


A Star Worth Following

by duckmoles



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Alternate Universe - Space, Developing Relationship, Gen, Getting to Know Each Other, Light Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-27
Updated: 2019-06-27
Packaged: 2020-05-14 03:34:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19265086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/duckmoles/pseuds/duckmoles
Summary: Steve wakes up 70 years after the war he was meant to win, only to be greeted by a sharp-tongued mechanic who'd really rather have nothing to do with him.(AKA: Tony and Steve - IN SPACE)





	A Star Worth Following

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [velottiraptor's art!](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/491329) by https://velottiraptor.tumblr.com. 



> first off, this art was inspired by the work of [lottie](https://velottiraptor.tumblr.com) found here: https://imgur.com/BjlGByF
> 
> thanks to the world to [natcat](/users/nat_cat) who very honestly deserves the world and provided a very beautiful beta and listened to me complain about this for literal weeks. she is the Best!
> 
> also thanks to the caprbb mods who provided a last minute assist and ellebeesknees/[lenadraws](https://lenadraws.tumblr.com) who did the amazing banner art!

 

Steve wakes up to the soft hum and buzz and whirring of machines - the bright arching light of electricity, the familiar smell of burning metal, his muscles aching, and a low, familiar voice - and he thinks: _oh. I’m back home. They found me._

He closes his eyes, lets the pain carry him away. He’ll be safe.

-

“Open your mouth,” the familiar voice says, and he obeys, like second nature. They’re fixing him up, they must be, because the pain has already lessened, and there’s a bright burst of flavor on his tongue, all warmth and sweetness. 

“Stars above,” the voice continues, gruff and exasperated and in a tone Steve can and does settle down into. That tone has been used on him from running around the scrap yards as a child to the labs decades later, telling him to settle down or Peggy’ll have his ass. Or - Peggy’s voice, begging and desperate and telling him that - 

“Okay, okay, you have any more of this, you’re throwing up. DUM-E, make a little less next time so he doesn’t get the opportunity to choke on his own vomit.” 

The sweetness fades away, and Steve almost thinks he should open his eyes, but he’s tired, right down to his bones. At least he isn’t cold anymore. 

-

Steve dreams, discorporated and stilted. The whirling expanse of the stars, the excruciating heat as he crashes a million miles an hour through a burning atmosphere. The lab, the tests. Peggy’s hair falling over her shoulder in a soft wave.

Falling. A sensation he’s more than a little acquainted with.

-

The first thing Steve registers when he’s awake - properly awake, this time - is raucous, incredible bouts of swearing so loud and vibrant that Steve wouldn’t be surprised if the ghost of Sarah Rogers appeared right now to waggle a finger and glare disapprovingly. The second thing he registers is that the voice, no matter how similar it sounds, _isn’t_ Howard Stark.

The third thing he registers is a mechanical claw looming over his head, crude and patchworked together. He jumps to his feet, narrowly avoiding a pile of discarded scrap metal as he lands, thin blanket tangling around his feet, and the claw jerks back, almost as if in shock. It’s a robot, Steve realizes belatedly, but its tech had already been phasing out by the time Steve was born, only known because the Rogers family could only afford pieces of junk so old they fell apart at any stray touch. 

But there’s no time to dwell. He’s in an unfamiliar location, probably captured by HYDRA or some other sinister organization, and there’s no telling how long it will take until his captors figure out he’s awake. Hell, with the robot, even though it doesn’t look like it has communication capabilities, they probably already know. He doesn’t have a lot of time.

He gets up, catalogues himself - what did they _do_ with his uniform? - scans the room. It doesn’t seem like a HYDRA prison cell, but they’re smart. Probably trying to lull him into a false sense of security. But it also doesn’t look like what Steve would expect, if they were trying to trick him. It’s a one room lab-cum-apartment, for one thing. There’s a half-finished mug of what looks like coffee teetering on the edge of a table, a pile grease-stained clothing flung haphazardly onto the floor, and a small pyramid of screws stacked on top of what looks like a torn apart spaceship wing. It looks _lived in._ Real.

They’ve stepped their game up.

But the strangest thing - Steve runs over, hefts it up in his hands, its familiar weight comforting - they left his shield out. And it is _his_ shield. He would know its heft and weight anywhere, knows it better than he knows even the back alleys of Brooklyn, and this is _his_ shield.

He doesn’t know why they left it like this, and he doesn’t want to find out.

The door’s unlocked, which is another thing Steve doesn’t want to think about, why they would let him leave, why this is all so easy, when they clearly must know that he’s awake and active, and he steps outside, and -

There’s nothing.

Well. Not nothing. Where he just came out of looks to be a metal shed, built into the side of a dusty hill. There’s a few other buildings nearby, huge machines mounted in the ground, and in the distance, what looks to be a landing pad for spaceships, but other than that, the landscape is completely bare. There’s a few trees, swaying in the near-nonexistent breeze, and a shrub here or there, but other than that, there’s nothing but sand, stretching out endlessly in all directions.

Steve licks his lips, already feeling dry and cracked. His gaze redirects to the landing pad. Maybe if he gets there, there might a ship somewhere he can hijack, make his way back to Lehigh. You don’t get to be around Howard Stark, listening to him talk endlessly about whatever subject piques his interest, without picking up a thing or two about piloting a spacecraft with, this time, the purpose of actual flight.

He starts running in that direction, the sand tugging at his feet, unrelenting, with every step, shield slung over his back. 

“Glad to see you up and about,” a voice calls out before he gets too far.

Steve spins around, grabbing the shield and covering his chest, falling into a fighting position in one fluid motion, easy as breathing.

 _It must be HYDRA,_ had been the first thing Steve thought when he woke up. But Steve’s been deep in the guts of HYDRA’s top-most secretive bases, rummaged through their files, and he knows what they do to their operatives, how they use the people under their command, what kind of agents they have, and this one looks different.

“Are you HYDRA?” Steve asks, not lowering the shield.

The man - the cyborg? - tilts his head. And something else that throws Steve off balance - he smiles. And not the smile of a HYDRA scientist who knows something Steve doesn’t, who’s created something awful and is ready to unleash it onto the world. Genuine. Amused, and something almost like empathy in it. It makes Steve itch.

“No,” he says, firm. “Are you?”

His hands are stuck in the pockets of baggy cargo pants, but with the sleeves of his jacket rucked up, Steve can see his wholly mechanical right arm, dull grey metal pieced together to resemble a limb. His clothes can’t hide the eerie blue glow shining through his chest, either, pulsating with a steady rhythm, almost like a heartbeat.

Steve’s first instinct is one of protest, before sense kicks in and he says, “Who are you, then?”

“My name,” the man says, “is Tony. And you can trust me, Rogers. Put down the frisbee.”

The use of his last name has Steve’s brain stuttering to a halt. It was supposed to be kept secret. _Steve Rogers_ was never supposed to be involved in this, only Captain America. But if this - if this Tony knows his name, what else does he know?

Tony rolls his eyes. He reaches up, runs his hands through his hair. “I guess there’s no easy way to do it, huh,” he says, almost to himself, then looks up to lock eyes with Steve. He shrugs, extends his arms out as if presenting an award, and says, wry and solemn, “Welcome to the future, Cap. We’re glad to have you.”

-

Steve can’t shake the lingering suspicion. But beside that, even deeper down, staring at the newsfeeds, at the images of Peggy and Commandos that Tony pulls up on a sleek holographic device Steve could only dream of, he _knows_. More years than he ever thought he could live through have passed. 

“You have questions,” Tony says, eyes on the muted recording of Peggy’s eulogy to Steve. When Steve doesn’t say anything, caught on the wet look in Peggy’s eyes, he continues, “And I guess I have answers. And you’re not going to trust me either way, so I’ll be honest.”

Steve tears himself away from the image, turns to Tony. There’s a million things he could ask - where is this, how did he get here, how does he get back to his home planet, but what he wants to know, what he blurts out before he can stop himself, is this: “Was it worth it?”

Tony blinks at him. “Well,” he says, after a long silence, “I guess that’s a question I don’t have an answer to. It’s been a long century, Cap. The world’s changed.” He grimaces, glances down at himself briefly. “I’m living proof of that, I suppose.”

Steve’s not sure what to make of that. They had prostheses like Tony’s before he went down.

Tony continues, “You’ll have to figure that out for yourself, Cap.” With that, he gets up, rubs at his chest with one hand. “I need to - get something to eat. I’ll find you something too, if you want. 70 years floating through space with a dud nuclear warhead probably leaves you more than a bit peckish.” He pauses before leaving. “I’ll leave the computers running. Won’t be long-distance enough to get into contact with any of the people you might know, but you might be interested in looking through the back catalogs.”

Tony’s right. Steve’s starving.

-

It’s frustrating work. Steve spends twenty minutes fumbling with the controls, trying to imitate the fluid ways Tony had manipulated the technology, but he just - he just wants to hear Peggy’s voice.

He presses his head into his hands, rubs at his eyes, tries to concentrate. It shouldn’t be this hard, but he can’t _think_ properly. Something has to be wrong. Tony’s not who he says he is, and he’s drugged him somehow, or this is all a bad dream, or, or.

Or maybe no one is meant to come out of seventy years of sleep unscathed, and Steve is no exception.

He takes a deep breath, lifts his head, and continues trying.

-

“SWORD is an intergalactic agency,” Peggy says. The feed tells Steve that it’s one of the last interviews she gave before she retired. “We keep up as best we can, but even we can’t counter everything. Our ships and our data still travel too slow for our liking - among the outer planets, some of them only get shipments once every few months. That’s not enough to sustain a large colony that’s still viable for research and defense. Howard’s-” she takes a deep breath “-passing was hard on all of us, but the technological empire he built stands. He was a friend, and he will be missed. But we’ve got work to do. All of us.”

A cough from behind Steve.

Steve turns around to Tony balancing a plate of freeze-dried everything.

“Don’t have much here,” Tony says, setting the meal on top of a stack of paper manuals next to Steve. “You heard Director Carter. We’re a long way from the nearest shipping depot.”

The food tastes awful, but Steve’s not complaining. He’s had much worse. “Did you eat?” he asks through a mouthful of vague grey mush.

Tony waves a hand vaguely. “I ate before. So hey. I just ordered a bunch of parts. When the shipment comes in you can probably hitch a ride off of here, go back home. My normal guy’s discreet. He’ll vouch for you when you cross the checkpoints, when you get back to Earth.”

Steve swallows. “How long will it take?”

Tony scratches at his beard. “One, maybe two months? Not soon at any rate.” He smiles, sardonic and with an undertone Steve can only pin down as bitter. “Guess you’re stuck with me for the foreseeable future. I’ll make you a bed.”

-

“Bed” turns out to be a pile of blankets and cloth stacked up in the opposite corner from the lab area. It’s not much, but really, genuinely, Steve’s had worse. It does make him wonder _where_ and _if_ Tony actually sleeps. There’s no actual bed in the main room that Steve’s been in, so Steve can only infer that Tony sleeps in one of the satellite buildings - “Mostly power generators, specialized labs, that sort of thing. You don’t need to worry about it.” - that Steve hasn’t gotten a chance to explore.

Night’s set. It’s quiet. Back home, there had always been noise, the world up and about around him, bustling and busy and filled with life. Even in space, there had always been the ever-present buzz of the spaceship, the occasional drifting voices of a scientist doing some late night work or the night crew moving around. Here, everything’s quiet, only the faint hum of electricity. Tony had shut everything off and excused himself, so it’s just Steve here, alone. Apart from Tony, he doesn’t think there’s much other life around here for miles on end.

He doesn’t know how long he’s been lying on the ground in the dark, but after some time there’s a small creaking noise, and the door opens. Steve can hear the wind howling outside, and the faint sound of Tony entering. He walks surprisingly lightly.

He cracks open his eyes, keeping his head lowered, and shifts so that he’s sitting up ever so slightly.

Tony’s standing at what Steve thinks is the main lab table, running his hand over the robot claw that Steve had first seen when he woke up - DUM-E?

“A month,” Tony whispers, so quiet Steve has to strain to hear it, even with his supersoldier hearing. “Just a month.”

The robot claw whirs quietly as it bends, reaches down to touch the source of the glow at the center of Tony’s chest. In the darkness, Tony’s face is lit up by it, odd angles and highlights that make the planes of his face look strange and sharp, eerie almost. His eyes are wide as he stares down at his robot. They reflect the light back.

Steve blinks, and Tony’s turned his back away from Steve, fussing with something on the lab table. The claw arches over his shoulder, and when Tony points at whatever he’s working on, the claw moves to grab it and do what Tony wants it to. As Steve watches, it becomes clear that they work in unison, side-by-side with the sort of flow born from years of experience working with each other.

Tony berates it softly, low enough for Steve to barely catch it, but it’s gentle, with no real malice behind it.

It’s unexpectedly charming.

Steve falls asleep to the sound of Tony fiddling with a screwdriver and muttering, “DUM-E, I’ll pull you apart for scraps if you don’t - there we go, perfect. Now why can’t you be like - no, no, don’t drop that, you’ll wake the good Captain…”

-

The first few days pass.

In the mornings, Steve wakes up to Tony already moving about, usually with breakfast already made for Steve and having “eaten already, don’t bother.” The rest of the day Tony leaves Steve to himself while he works on whatever he’s working on, mostly in the main room, sometimes in one of the satellite buildings.

Steve almost misses the daily routine of life in the war, knowing what to do at all times, never having a moment of leisure to himself. It had been restrictive, but at least it kept him busy. The listlessness feels worse. He works out, sometimes, but there’s no motivation behind it, just going through the motions.

On the third day, Tony slams what looks like a fancy cube in front of him.

Steve looks up at him blankly.

“I’m getting tired of you moping around the place,” Tony says, eyes sharp and hard and unrelenting. “You’re helping me finish this transmitter. Transponder. Trans-something. It helps people people galaxies away communicate, is what I’m saying. And you’re helping me with it.”

The tone of his voice leaves no room for argument, so Steve doesn’t.

-

“People hire me sometimes,” Tony says, goggles over his eyes, staring at the tiny pieces of metal that he’s made Steve hold for him. “Fixing some parts here and there, upgrading this thing or another. Not a lot. I’m too far out for any kind of speedy delivery, and what customers I get mostly come by word of mouth.”

“Must be good work, then,” Steve replies.

Tony’s head jerks up, and behind the goggles, his eyes almost sparkle. “ _Good work_ ,” he imitates, mocking. “It’s more like the best work in the whole galaxy. Look, it’s -” He gets up to his feet, runs over to the sink, which has, unsurprisingly, instead of water, a pile of miscellaneous scrap and a remote at the very top.

Steve’s not sure where to put the half-finished metal.

“This-” Tony brandishes the remote, and with the goggles still over his eyes, his hair sticking up everywhere, the jerking flailing of his limbs, Steve almost wants to go over and - and tell him to settle down- “this is a little autonomous flight design I’ve been working on.” He dips down a little, comes up with what looks like pieces of shining metal folded in on itself. He unfolds it, and Steve stares as it’s revealed to be a boot.

Steve can only watch, a little amused and a little amazed, as Tony fits the boots around his feet and presses the button.

Tony gently hovers in the air, no visible propulsion from the boot, no noise or sound or heat. A small shift, and he starts moving around the room, smooth and effortless. Steve follows him as he flies in circles around the room.

“I’m getting it up to FTL,” Tony says. “It’ll be the smallest, fastest warp drive system in the universe when I’m through with it.” He makes his way back to Steve and pushes the button again, and abruptly he plummets, landing flat on his face.

Steve rushes over to help him up, but Tony bats his hands away. He’s laughing, and Steve finds himself laughing with him, Tony’s joy infectious.

Tony sits up, grinning. “Best work in the whole galaxy,” he repeats, proud, and Steve feels inclined to agree with him.

-

It’s obsessive, he knows. But it’s hard to imagine, most days, that he’s been down for seventy years, especially with his only company being Tony and a few rust buckets that were old when Steve was young.

So he researches, sifts through all of Tony’s databases. He’s a fast learner, always has been, and really, the hard part is the fact that there’s so much information to sift through, so much nonsense and conflicting facts and arguments. What he likes most is watching the interviews: Peggy, posture straight in a way Steve couldn’t manage until weeks into training, voice firm. The Commandos, Dum Dum gruff but effusive, Morita with his head held high, hands rapid and blurred as he talks, Dernier grinning, wide smile showing all his teeth.

They talk about him, sometimes. Him and Bucky, the only Commandos to be lost during the war. But apparently not, because he’s here, and he’s alive, and he never thought he’d be.

“You know,” Tony says contemplatively while Steve’s eating dinner, “we could get a transmission out there, when we’ve finished with that communicator. Director Carter probably won’t be available, but there are a lot of people out there who’d want nothing more than to hear from a long lost best friend.”

Steve plays with his fork, suddenly not hungry for the first time in a long time. “They wouldn’t believe me,” he says. Maybe Dum Dum would, if Steve plays his cards right, gives out all the little anecdotes that Steve hasn’t found public in his research.

Tony shrugs. “Your decision, Cap.”

Maybe Gabe.

-

A week in, the power shuts off.

It’s in the middle of a mostly one-sided midnight poker game. The lights flicker for a brief second, and then completely go out. Around them, the near-constant low hum of electricity that Steve’s gotten used to fades.

“ _Stars_ ,” Tony groans, dropping the cards on the table - a pair of sevens, a two. “Stay here while I fix this,” he says, glaring back at Steve. “Don’t move.”

Steve’s not an idiot, but this is Tony’s home. Tony knows it better than Steve ever could, so he stays put. Without the artificial light, it’s unerringly dark, and if not for Steve’s enhanced eyesight he knows he wouldn’t be able to see a thing. He can hear Tony crashing around outside.

“Fuck!” Tony yells, laced with pain, and everything goes quiet.

Steve’s up before he knows what he’s doing, racing outside. It’s just as dark outside as it is in, and his feet sink into the sand, but he runs as fast as he can. Tony’s - Tony’s collapsed, near one of the storage towers for the solar panels.

“Tony!”

The power comes on.

The storage towers start whirring softly, and the lights dotting Tony’s makeshift village switch on, illuminating the area. Tony himself is lit up, skin pale and ghastly, the glow of the device at his chest even more unearthly.

As Steve gets closer, Tony jerks, as if shocked, and lurches back into consciousness, eyes wide, clambering to his feet. His chest glows bright, brighter than Steve’s ever seen it. His eyes lock on Steve, and he stumbles back.

“Don’t touch me,” he says, voice quiet and flat and marked with something Steve can’t quite place, but reminds him of the warfront, the cold darkness of space. “Don’t touch me.”

Tony lets go of the wires that he had been holding in his robotic hand.

“Don’t touch me,” he says again. He shoves past Steve to march into the opposite building, the one haphazardly labeled, “PARTS” with a wooden sign, and doesn’t look back. The strangest thing - as Tony goes by, Steve feels his hair stand on end.

-

Midnight, and Steve finds himself still awake. The nightmares are one of the few things he can’t shake. His latest recurring image is of Bucky, taking the escape pod to distract, flying into the midst of enemy lines. Exploding into a million tiny pieces.

He finally groans and hefts himself up. The floor is cold on his bare feet. Not unbearably so, just enough for it to ache.

A creak, and the door cracks open. Tony slips in, still greasy and smelling of dust.

He catches sight of Steve, and doesn’t look surprised to see him up. “Hey,” Tony says. “You’re up late. Get some rest.”

Steve hasn’t ever seen Tony eat or sleep. He’s one to talk.

Tony’s mechanical arm whirrs and clicks as he moves it around. It sounds like the gears are grinding against each other, metal on metal. It’s been acting up ever since the power went out earlier, with Steve wincing every time he hears Tony. It can’t be comfortable.

Tony sighs. “Alright,” he says. “Since both of us are up, let’s go shore up the solar panels and towers. I might need an extra hand.”

They work in tandem, in silence, save for brief moments as Tony gives out instructions, until the sun comes up over the horizon, painting the landscape gold and red.

“Storm’s brewing,” Tony says, staring at the skyline. “Should hit in a few days or so. At most a week. Not much weather here, but when it rains-” he shrugs “-it pours.”

Steve nods. It was almost always raining on Earth, temperature and humidity high. He remembers the first time he went off-planet, with Erskine, how they’d had to give him new clothes due to his lack of preparation.

He remembers seeing the stars for the first time.

He glances at Tony and realizes, the thought sharp and sudden, that he doesn’t actually know anything about Tony.

Tony’s an engineer, and he’s brilliant, and he talks like he works, fast and quick, changes tracks as easily as Steve breathes. He lives alone on a desolate planet, months away from anyone he knows, and solitude comes to him just as well as building does.

He knows nothing about Tony and-

“Should be sturdier now,” Tony says. “Breakfast?”

-

Steve, by nature, is good at observation. He spent the first twenty years of his life wanting to be an artist, drawing and learning to catch the tiny details, the ones most people would never pay half a mind to, and then the next few years he’d been in the army, and catching things no one was meant to catch became a matter of life and death. So when he’s not helping Tony, when he’s not working out or doing research, he watches.

Tony seems an eclectic mix of the past and the future. He’s fast-talking, quick and sharp and always taking any opportunity to rib Steve about his more old-fashioned habits or missing out on the dozen and a half references Tony peppers into his speech, but in his quieter moments, intense and sharp, he reminds Steve of the war.

He reminds Steve of the soldiers he’d seen during the war, those who had stayed a little too long, who should have never been involved but pushed themselves to be anyway.

Tony drops a screwdriver and the floor and yells when he roots around to find it. Steve offers to help him.

-

It’s hard to believe the war is over. It’s hard to believe that there ever was an _after_ , that he’s now living in that after, that seventy years on the world still hasn’t learned anything. He needs to be ready for the world when he goes back, and so he can do nothing but study.

His research takes him to Howard Stark, his life after the war. His successes. His company.

His _son_.

-

“Why didn’t you _tell_ me?”

Tony doesn’t look at him. “You know.”

“Of course I know, I - what are you _doing_ here? Why didn’t you tell me? What are you hiding?”

Tony slams his work tools onto the desk. The right arm/hand is still lagging behind ever so slightly. “I didn’t tell you because I knew you’d react like this. Stars, there’s a reason I’m here.”

The articles Steve had read had called Tony a genius, and Steve knows that bit already, but also a hedonistic playboy who had been steadily driving his father’s company into the ground before mysteriously disappearing. That - that doesn’t track, not with the Tony that Steve’s spent so long trying to understand.

Steve needs an explanation.

“You clearly already know everything,” Tony says, picking up a dented piece of metal and violently hammering it into form. The sound of metal on metal grates, high pitched and sharp. “What would I be telling you, if not to confirm everything that you’ve been expecting? Tony Stark: genius, billionaire, _runaway coward_. Is that somehow a surprise to you?”

“I didn’t-”

“I ran,” Tony spits out. “I was spiralling, and I couldn’t stand another minute in that hellhole, and everything I ever knew was torn away by a freak _accident_ , and I had never been alone in my life, and I _ran_. You don’t even-” He cuts himself off, shaking his head. He drops whatever he’s been working on. It hits the floor with a crash and a bang, and he flinches, barely detectable.

“You-”

“What do you want me to say? The company’s doing fine. You’re still stuck here until Rhodey swings by. You’re stuck with _me_.” His gaze, when he turns to look at Steve, is icy. “I should’ve left you in space.”

“Maybe you _are_ what they all say you are. Selfish, rude, a _coward_ ,” Steve snaps back before he can help himself.

Tony freezes, and his face goes terrifyingly blank. “Maybe I am,” he says, monotone.

When he storms out, he brushes past Steve. His metal arm feels cold on Steve’s bare skin.

-

They don’t talk about it.

Oh, Tony still leaves breakfast out in the mornings, still works on the communicator he’d promised to help Steve with, but they don’t talk. They move in circles around each other, neither willing to break the silence.

Tony’s been working more than usual, Steve notices, and with each clang Steve feels like it’s his fault, as if he’s the one that’s done wrong. But at the same time - it had been Tony who kept the truth, who kept that away from him even while knowing about Steve’s own history. Lies of omission, if nothing else.

Steve mostly keeps to himself, and Tony does as well.

-

It’s the noises that wake Steve up, and when he blinks into the world of the waking, the sharp sound of wind thundering in his ears, the storm finally hitting, blowing through the open doors of the room, he realizes that Tony’s outside.

He can hear him, cursing and clanging just outside the darkened doors, and Steve has one moment to think before he jumps up, kicking the thin sheets off, and runs outside, struggling not to trip in the dark.

“Tony!” he yells. The storm’s bigger than Steve thought it would be, more violent and more terrifying. Steve can barely see three feet ahead of himself, but he can see Tony’s light, shining in the distance. “Tony!”

The light moves, and Steve can suddenly see the outline of Tony’s body. It bobs up and down, before falling to the ground.

Steve runs.

-

He’s there when Tony wakes up. Tony blinks, slow and measured, something Tony’s never been, not for these short few weeks Steve’s known him, and the first thing Tony says is: “So. You know.”

“Yes.”

Steve had found Tony, half covered in dust, after the storm cleared, thinking he was dead until he saw the scratches on Tony’s face, the - the exposed wiring. Hefting him up across Steve’s shoulders, taking him back, searching through the labs until - god. Until he had found where Tony _charged_ himself. No wonder he never ate, or slept.

Tony closes his eyes and turns his head to the side. It’s such a human gesture, so casual and fluid that Steve, already sure the world’s been tilted off its axis, feels as if he’s been transported back, freshly serumed, unsure of his size or strength.

“What part was the truth?” Steve asks, trying not to let his voice waver. “Was there ever even a Tony Stark?”

He can’t quite wrap his head around what Tony is, can’t quite reconcile the clunky medbots that attended to him while he was recovering from the serum, top of its class and still so inhuman, with - Tony. What Tony is.

“No,” Tony says, finally. “There wasn’t, not in the way you’re thinking. There was just me, from the very beginning. And then DUM-E, and the others, when I was taught to create.” His eyes are fixated on some distant object, as if he’s recalling a faint memory. “Dad had always wanted a son. And, well. He made me, but I never really turned out the way he wanted.” He shrugs, a faint up and down motion, smooth as anything. “And I ran to this backwater planet in the middle of nowhere to be hopelessly, desperately alone, and it _worked_. And that’s the truth.”

“Tony,” Steve says, but nothing more. He doesn’t know what to say. Out of everything, he never was ready for this.

“I always had - direction,” Tony continues. “A purpose. Directives. Orders. There’s a word for it somewhere.” He doesn’t blink, not once. “Howard died, and I lost all of that. A robot gone rogue, and isn’t that a nightmare?” The smallest upwards quirk of the lips, minute enough that it could’ve been absent minded, not even a thought given.

But now Steve knows - everything Tony’s ever done, ever tiny thing that Steve’s found endearing, it had been precise and deliberate. Programmed.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. “I have to - leave.”

-

The thing is - the thing is. The thing is Steve spent the better part of his adult life as a science experiment, one created by Howard Stark, even. The other thing is - it’s Tony. It’s Tony, and even knowing what he now knows, it’s still - Tony. Tony, who had brought him in in the first place. Tony, who had unfailingly made him breakfast every day for weeks. Tony, who went out in a storm to fix the power despite knowing it could kill him. Tony.

-

When Steve goes back in, Tony is half-crouched on the floor, his eyes half-closed. For the first time since Steve has met him, his shirt is off, and Steve finally gets to see what the light is - it’s at the very center of his chest, glowing gently, and there’s wires extending outward from it onto the wall.

Tony’s eyes flicker open as Steve enters. For a moment, his eyes are a bright, inhuman blue, and then they fade back to its normal tones.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, and before he can say anything else, Tony interrupts with, “I know. Me too.”

-

In the morning, Tony makes Steve breakfast.

-

“Steve,” Tony calls out, and when Steve rushes over to see what’s happening, he finds Tony with his arm completely torn apart, on the floor next to him. It’s such a strange sight that Steve doesn’t know what to say until Tony says, “It was lagging a little ever since I first tried to jumpstart the power. The second time it decided to go kaput for good. Can you -” he points his chin at the various parts and pieces surrounding him.

Steve jumps to action, and they work. Steve tries not to look at the wires and circuitry of Tony’s gaping shoulder socket where flesh should be, and Tony stays nonchalant as he directs Steve to “screw in a little tighter - no, there, not - yes, okay, up a little and -”

At the end of it, Tony looks as human as he’s ever been.

-

“So, hey,” Tony says from the floor, where he’s sitting at DUM-E’s wheelbase, tinkering away. Steve looks up from where he’s sketching the room, Tony’s pensive look caught between lines of graphite. “Rhodey’s swinging by two days from now to drop off some parts and pick you up, and I think I’ll be able to get the communicator up and running by then. It’ll take you a few more months to get back home, but - do you want to talk to anyone?”

Steve almost drops his pencil. It’s been a reprieve, this short while that they’ve known each other, isolated and away from any of the stresses that Steve had always been more used to. A reprieve, but nothing else, and the rest of the world is catching up. A few days, and he’ll be off and away. Back into the real world.

And Tony will be alone, again.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “I’d like that.”

-

The rest comes out in midnight spurts, mostly, when Steve’s up from a nightmare, when Tony’s working on one thing or another, and they can sit in comfortable companionship together.

“It was nice,” Tony says, suddenly, not looking at Steve. “Working with you. You’re a good lab assistant. Good at taking orders.”

 _I’ll miss you,_ is what Steve thinks he wants to say.

“Come with me,” Steve blurts out, and strangely enough he doesn’t regret it. He’s seen how Tony lives and works, how completely, utterly vibrant he is. He doesn’t belong, here in the empty sand and dust.

Tony drops his tools and looks up at Steve, wide-eyed. “You want me to- what?”

“Come with me,” Steve says again. “When I leave, come with me. I know you’ve made a life out here, but -” _I don’t want you to be lonely._

Tony’s already shaking his head. “You’re asking me to pack up my life, Steve.” He casts a smile, small and delicate and barely there. “I left for a reason. I don’t know if I can still do it.”

It’s a lot to ask. Steve nods. “Alright,” he says. “But it won’t be just you.”

“Yeah,” Tony says. “I know.”

-

“You’ve got people?” Tony asks.

“Took a while to confirm, but yeah,” Steve says. “I was introduced to someone named Fury?”

Tony makes a face. “Nick Fury, asshole extraordinaire, knew him when.” He glances back at the small pager he has in his hand. “Rhodey’s arriving in a few hours. You taking the communicator?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Give DUM-E some of that extra high quality oil, won’t you?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “He’ll be much less spoiled without you, you big lug.”

“And he’ll be disappointed, no doubt. Haven’t you noticed the quality of his work has been going up?”

“Probably because I keep threatening to shoot him off into space to suffer your fate.” Oddly enough, the jab doesn’t rub.

Steve pauses. “I will miss you,” he says.

Tony turns away, doesn’t say anything. “Last minute workshop time?” he asks, finally.

-

For their last day, Tony works on gloves. “Repulsor tech,” he says. “Flight stabilizer, for the boots.” Steve helps him strap them and the boots on, and slowly, carefully, steps back to let Tony try them out.

Tony presses the button, and - and this time he shoots up into the air, looking as if he’s going to slam into the ceiling before shoving his arm out and steadying himself. 

Steve’s instinct is to rush forward, help Tony out if he needs it, but within seconds Tony’s peeled himself off the ceiling, zipping around the lab, in circles so fast Steve can only make out a blur, a streak of light dancing above his head, whooping and hollering with unrestrained joy.

After a few minutes, Tony lands, and he’s grinning, wide and excited. “It’s working,” he says, jumping up and down ever so slightly. “It worked. God, I can’t wait to try this out when we’re in space- _”_

Steve blinks. “Space?”

Tony pauses, and the look on his face is so breathtakingly human Steve can’t believe he ever thought of him as otherwise.

“It was going to be a surprise,” Tony says. “But-” and he shrugs “-DUM-E at least deserves to see the stars at least one last time.”

“You’re - coming?” Steve can’t quite hide the shock, or the utter relief from his voice. Tony’s been with him for what seems like years.

“Someone’s got to keep intergalactic peace, and god, whatever Obie’s doing to the company - well.” Tony doesn’t hide his grin. “And they always did say robots are meant to be impartial.”

Steve tries not to snort. Tony’s never been impartial in his life.

-

“How’d you feel when you first went to space?” Tony had asked, once.

“Hmm?” Steve had tilted his head. He’d been lying on his back in the makeshift bed, not quite sleeping, trying to think back. “I remember the excitement,” he had said. “I’ve never traveled more than a few towns over from where I was born. It was exhilarating. And I also remember the nausea - I almost threw up over Peggy.” 

Tony’s laugh had been small and quiet.

“Have you been?” Steve had asked, and Tony must’ve, or else how would he have ended up here.

“Yes,” Tony had said. He’d paused for a moment, before he’d replied, quiet and longing. “I remember the stars.” 


End file.
